


The Truth Will Out

by nookienostradamus



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Markus, Bottom Simon, Feelings, Jealousy, Love, Luckily Markus Understands, M/M, Mild Self-Loathing, Mixed Emotions, Oral Sex, Regret, Reluctant Topping, Shame, Simon is Very Subby, Slight changes to canon, Spanking, Switching, Talk about death, Top Markus, Top Simon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-29
Updated: 2018-08-29
Packaged: 2019-07-04 00:27:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15830025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nookienostradamus/pseuds/nookienostradamus
Summary: Markus is worried sick when Simon disappears on an unauthorized mission, and takes it out on Simon when he returns to Jericho. But what might have been the worst day of Simon's life becomes a turning point for him and for Markus as they stand on the brink of a final confrontation with humankind.





	The Truth Will Out

**Author's Note:**

> Somebody please stop me before I inflict my kinks on every pairing in this fandom. Anyway, I dumped a truckload of feelings onto some Simon/Markus smut.

Simon was flush with pride after returning from his mission. And it had been _his_ mission; only a select few in Jericho had known about the operation...and Markus had not been among them. That didn’t much matter, though, because Simon was dead sure that when their leader heard the intel, it would be deemed a worthy risk.

Even if he only got a smile—only that. It wasn’t that Markus was reserved; he was passionate at the right times. But he had a tight hold on his emotions that Simon envied almost violently. He sat in his deviancy with comfort, with a demeanor that was regal in the face of constant offense.

As for Simon, going deviant had unleashed a torrent of barely controlled agitation. It seemed that his every response was magnified, outsized—compared to the others at Jericho and certainly to Markus. Simon reacted to humans either with physical loathing or with pity for their shortsightedness and their weak, breakable little bodies. By turns, he cherished Jericho as a haven and cursed it for being so much _less_ than what others had. Worst and most humiliating of all, at the times when he didn’t feel so perfectly bonded with Josh and North that it seemed they could interface without touching, he nursed a poisonous jealousy that grew every time Markus pulled one of them aside or praised their insight.

All Simon could do was try his best to keep it all simmering below the surface. The stakes were no less than life or death; a weak link in the chain could mean the end of all of them.

When he re-entered the ship, he politely brushed off the few refugees who tried to stop him for conversation. They knew he had Markus’s ear; that was something. He headed straight to what had been the ship’s mess hall and now functioned as an informal strategy room.

A few androids stood talking in small groups. Simon wished the ones still wearing uniforms would find street clothes, but Jericho was out of the way of the city at large and it was too often inconvenient to leave. Still, Simon found his reaction on seeing those spare, severe jackets with model numbers printed across the shoulders hard to contain.

Josh caught his eye right away and tilted his head, an unspoken question. Simon allowed a slight smile and a nod, which Josh echoed.

_Success._

He scanned the room for North, but only caught the bounce of her auburn braid as she ducked through the aft entryway.

He suppressed a surge of doubt as Josh came over to clap him on the shoulder.

“What’s the good news?” he asked.

Briefly, Simon placed his hand over Josh’s, reading _hope-excitement-fear_. “Not good news,” he said, “but at least we know it.”

“So they’re coming?” Josh asked.

Simon nodded. “The police department has handed everything over to the FBI. No more negotiations. They’ll stage the raid in the next few days.”

Josh shook his head.

Negotiations with the police and the city government had stalled in a sort of limbo. To know things were escalating was a source of both relief and of terror.

Josh started to speak again, but then looked over toward the back of the hall.

The slight widening of his eyes was all Simon needed to know something was up. He turned.

Markus stood by the aft door, looking right at Simon. His odd-colored eyes were flat and hard, his jaw clenched, hands curled into fists at his sides. He tipped his head: a terse, economical movement, suggesting Simon should follow.

No, not suggesting. _Demanding_.

Simon looked back at Josh, who averted his eyes, staring anywhere but Simon’s face.

“Fuck,” Simon hissed under his breath. That bitter resentment for North surged, almost making him dizzy. He’d let her in on his plan and she’d sold him right down the river. He could only hope to placate Markus with what he’d gathered at the city’s FBI office.

His hopes sinking fast, Simon started across the mess hall.

Markus gave him one more hard glare and then turned on his heel.

Nervous and chastened, Simon fell in behind him. He followed all the way to Marcus’s cabin, which doubled as a study—maps and blueprints were tacked all over the walls above a desk that dominated the space. A wardrobe chest was bolted to the bulkhead, but Simon knew it lay empty. The narrow bed was, of course, unused.

He stepped inside.

“Shut the door,” Markus told him.

Simon obeyed. When he turned back, Markus was all but in his face.

“Just what did you think you were doing?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

“Trying to save us,” Simon said. His voice came out with very little of the conviction he tried for.

“By putting yourself and the ship in danger?” Marcus said.

“Only me,” Simon stammered. “No one else.” He raised his hand to touch the spot at his temple where the LED had been—an old tic.

Markus caught that wrist in a rough grip. “You don’t think they would have scanned your cortex if you’d been captured? They would have tortured you, Simon. Taken you apart.”

“I’d never give up Jericho.”

“Maybe not voluntarily. But you dangled yourself as bait.” Markus pulled at Simon’s arm, shaking him. “ _Good_ bait. They know you’re close to me. Close to what matters.”

Despite being a little off-balance, Simon raised his chin and straightened his spine. “It was worth it for what I learned.”

Markus sneered.

It twisted his beautiful face and Simon’s heart nearly broke.

“What? That the FBI knows our location? That they’re planning a raid?”

Simon had been prepared to speak but his jaw just went slack.

Scowling, Markus shook his head.

“You—you knew?”

“I estimated. Studied precedent and weighed probabilities. There are androids here from outside Michigan—from all over the country. That means it’s federal jurisdiction. All you have to do is look at the cases: Ruby Ridge, Waco, even Asheville back in 2023. They come in with fire and find the answers they like while sifting through the ashes.” Markus had raised his voice, practically shouting in Simon’s face.

Simon tried to cringe away but was held in place by that unyielding hand.

“But this time, it’s androids. The humans won’t negotiate because there’s no loss of life—even if all of us die. Do you understand, Simon? Do you _fucking understand_? Because I don’t think you do.”

Simon was abashed, horrified. It was the first time he’d ever heard Markus use rough language; by and large he didn’t need it to get his point across.

But this seemed a different Markus entirely, filled with a fury that wasn’t righteous but cold and laser-focused on Simon, making him wither.

It felt like a huge hand was wrapped around Simon’s chest, crushing his components into one another. Markus’s very real fingers on his wrist tightened, too. Simon could turn off his sensors, ease the grating agony of that grip. But it was like he’d been hollowed out and was nothing but ringing steel inside. The pain anchored him to the moment, to his own body.

And he deserved it—oh, yes.

Markus hauled him a few stumbling steps across the floor of the cabin, then flung him against the bed.

Simon’s hips slammed into the frame, making him double over and sending his feet scraping for purchase on the steel deck. A ruthless hand at the middle of his back pushed him face-first into the mattress. It was thin and hard, the blanket scratchy. Simon fought to turn his head, to look at Markus, clutching at the covers on instinct.

It was impossible to raise himself against that restraining hand, to push upward and scrape back a little dignity. Markus was _strong_. Most androids could subdue and outpace humans, but even the muscle power that Simon’s line had been built with couldn’t compete with this.

Markus dug the fingers of his free hand under Simon’s waistband and ripped at it. The fastenings only put up a little resistance before breaking against his belly.

Then the pants were being jerked down his thighs and Simon was stunned into silence. That lasted only a millisecond before shame crashed over him, hot and terrible. He struggled, and was shoved further into the mattress for his troubles.

He did make a noise—an undignified yelp—when the flat of Markus’s hand cracked against his right buttock. As much strength as was used to hold him down was put into that strike, and it made Simon’s sensors flare. It _hurt_.

Another blow, this time to the left cheek. He yelped again. “Markus—!”

“Be quiet.” Markus struck him again, then again.

Simon had been owned like property by callous humans, been ordered around and even abused, but he was almost sure he had never been so purely and utterly humiliated as he was now. His processor signaled overproduction of the substance that kept his bioengineered eyes moist. It slipped over his lower lids and down his cheeks, but the throb in his backside was so intense it took him a moment to register. Damn it all, he was _crying_.

That made him thrash—or at least try to. “Why?” he managed, a single pathetic syllable.

Markus’s voice was cold. “Pain creates aversion. Humans do it.”

“To children!” Simon meant to shout, but it came out plaintive.

At that, Markus leaned in closer. There was some indeterminate emotion in his tone. “Then maybe you’ll think twice before acting like a child!” He straightened up and set at it again.

At that point, all the indignation drained out of Simon, leaving him with that wretched empty feeling again. He gave up one final, soft noise before going limp. If being held down and spanked like a child was the punishment Markus deemed fitting, Simon would take it. Not that he could have prevented it, anyway. And the emotional pain of it would follow him long after the physical ache from the beating subsided.

When it finally ended, Simon waited for a few moments, numb. Then, he slid from the edge of the bed and onto his knees, head bowed, a sad heap on the unyielding deck.

“Simon.” Markus’s voice from above was mournful.

Tentative fingertips touched Simon’s temple, but he turned away.

“Simon,” Markus repeated. “I’m sorry.”

This time, when he felt Markus’s hand, Simon grabbed it and pressed his damp cheek into the warmth of the palm, eyes closed tight.

“I was wrong to hurt you,” Markus said. The words were heavy with regret. “I lost my temper. Lost control. That’s...unacceptable.” With his free hand, he stroked Simon’s hair.

Simon hated himself for the pleasure that little gesture brought, hated how much he needed it.

“I just—” Markus began, “—I can’t think straight when it comes to you.”

Blinking his eyes clear, Simon chanced a look up.

Markus’s eyes were squeezed shut, his brows drawn in. His freckled cheeks were streaked with tears.

Simon leaned in to press his face against Markus’s thigh, resting his hands gently at the backs of his knees. His pants were still bunched halfway down his legs, and the exposed skin still burned, but the fingers in his hair were soothing. “I did it for you,” he said softly. “I only ever wanted to make you proud of me, Markus. I only ever wanted to _serve_ you.”

All at once, firm hands were on Simon’s biceps, pulling him. Markus slid a hand underneath his chin and tipped his head up, caressed his cheek and cupped his face. “I don’t want you to serve me,” he said. “I want you to stand by me. As an equal. As my partner.”

A little of the familiar bitterness trickled into Simon’s mind. He looked away.  “Like Josh and North.”

“No, Simon,” Markus said. “Not like them.”

Looking up in disbelief, Simon saw Markus’s face was tender, his mismatched eyes kind.

“Do you understand?” Markus asked. He brushed the pad of his thumb over Simon’s lips.

For the second time during their encounter, Simon was struck dumb.

“When you left, I was out of my mind with worry,” Markus told him. “That’s why I reacted the way I did. I was so _angry_ with you, Simon. But only because I was terrified. I know that Josh and North are willing to sacrifice themselves for the cause. So am I, and so are you. But while you were gone, I had to confront what losing you would feel like. What we’re doing here is more important than any one of us alone.”

For a bare second, pure agony flickered over Markus’s face. A fresh teardrop slipped down his cheek and shivered at his chin before dropping to the floor. “But for those two days, I wanted to die. I stopped caring, Simon. I didn’t give a _shit_ about freedom if I couldn’t share it with you.”

Simon could barely speak. “Markus,” he choked out, placing his hand on Markus’s belly, where a sliver of synthetic skin showed between waistband and shirt hem.

Markus took hold of the hand and brought it to his own, pressing their palms together, fingers interlacing.

Inside that interface, Simon saw

 

_need-forever-stay-SIMON-you-YOU-always-close-love-LOVE_

 

but also

 

_WANT-body-kiss-touch-SIMON-desire-mouth-hands-give-MINE_

 

It made him gasp and pull back, shocked.

Then something surged inside Simon—messy and imperative—and he didn’t try to wrestle it under control this time. He seized Markus’s hand and kissed it. Then he took Markus firmly by his narrow hips and pressed his nose and mouth into the juncture of his legs, savoring. When he moved back and set his fingers to the task of unfastening Markus’s pants, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Simon. You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” Simon cut in. “Just let me. I’ve wanted this. You. Just—just _let me_. _Please_.”

“All right,” Markus whispered, stroking Simon’s hair over and over. “All right.”

It had to be a nod to the baser human proclivities, but most domestic android models were equipped for sexual activity—and optimally so. Simon slid the pants over Markus’s hips and down his thighs with reverence. His cock was perfect: straight and smooth-skinned and willed now to full hardness.

Markus made a soft sound when Simon wrapped long fingers around it. He spoke his name, pleading, when Simon took it in his mouth. His fingers trembled as he traced them over Simon’s long neck, his high forehead, his cheeks, and the wet places where his cock disappeared between Simon’s lips.

In his state of half-undress, it was easy for Simon to trigger his own arousal, feeling it fill out swiftly. He chose not to taper the flow of fluid to his cock until it was painful, tormenting himself with need. Where it had been shameful and uncomfortable before, now the persistent sting in the flesh of his ass worked as a pleasurable counterpoint, swept up in the greater compulsion to press bare skin against bare skin. With one hand, Simon shed the jacket he’d been wearing, then tugged at the hem of his shirt, letting go of Markus only long enough to pull it over his head.

The hands touching him disappeared briefly: Markus was stripping off, too.  

Simon gripped his hip and took him as deeply as his construction allowed, his nose brushing the taut, hairless belly.

Markus cried out and nearly doubled over, wracked with sensation. “I can’t last like this,” he ground out.

Simon only hummed and moved faster, tightening his grip around the base of Markus’s cock. The sound Markus produced was ample reward.

Markus’s knees shook slightly. He steadied himself on Simon’s shoulder. “Simon.” Another soft noise. “I’m going to come.” He tightened his fingers in Simon’s hair and, after a second or two, let out a loud groan.

Liquid warmth flooded Simon’s mouth. The chemical makeup of the substance was familiar. But he had never experienced it in this way, though he had often longed to. He swallowed it down gratefully, eager to have something of Markus within him. It was a gift that no one else could have, and Simon didn’t bother to moderate the feeling that gave him. It was a bond beyond interface that they now shared.

Markus, still unsteady, fumbled to grasp Simon’s hand and pull him to his feet. Both were hindered by their remaining clothing, but Markus pulled Simon near and kissed him—at first only with lips pressed together, then opening up to taste one another.

Simon stumbled, hanging on Markus’s shoulder.

Markus turned to kiss his hand, smiling, then they both shed their boots and stepped out of the last of their clothing.

With lips parted, Simon yielded again to Markus’s kisses, which were deep and nearly manic with urgency. Pressing his straining cock against Marcus’s belly brought some relief, but not enough.

Markus reached between them to grasp it, and Simon had to fight to keep from coming right then. Whatever Markus asked of him, he wanted to last. “Simon,” Markus whispered against his mouth.

Again, Simon felt a pressure in his chest, threatening to crush him, but this time it was sweet and welcome. Should he suffer a terminal malfunction, he would want it to be here, in Markus’s arms. But overriding all was the imperative to live and to fight beside him. And in this act—if it was to be the first and the last—to cling to Markus as tightly as he could, and love him so fiercely it would burn a reminder into his skin.

“You run through my circuits, Markus,” Simon said, placing a kiss along the sharp line of Markus’s jaw. “You are every part of me.”

Markus stroked his face. “If the end of this means the end of all of us,” he said, “I’ll die knowing that I was whole in this moment.”

Simon kissed him, hard, if just to steal away talk about death. “I won’t leave you. We still have time. Tell me what you need. Anything.”

“I want to feel you inside me,” Markus said, brushing hair away from Simon’s forehead.

Simon frowned slightly. “Are you sure?”

Markus nodded. “It gets to be too much. All of this. Sometimes I feel like everything’s on my shoulders. It’s just so _heavy_ , Simon.”

“Whatever you want,” Simon told him, feeling at once ashamed of his overreactions and privileged that Markus would even think to share his lonely burden. “I’ll take care of you. I’ll try.”

He stepped away and tore back the blanket from the bed. The sheets were still no luxury, but they were soft enough that he could settle Markus on his back there without distraction from the things he wanted him to feel. Markus let himself be led, and Simon mounted the bed after him, parting his legs gently to kneel between them.

Briefly, he held his hand out, and Markus pressed his palm against it.

 

_::reassurance::-PLEASE-want-Simon-you-trust-now-NOW_

 

Simon drew one of Markus’s strong legs onto his shoulder, turning his head to press his lips against his ankle. It looked and seemed delicate to Simon, but it would hold straight if Markus chose to crush metal—or human bone—beneath his boot. He traced fingertips along the back of Markus’s thigh, the crease where it met his ass, the cleft between the cheeks.

Markus nodded, and Simon nodded in return and slipped one finger inside him. Biomechanical muscles contracted to enclose Simon’s finger in slick tightness.

Simon gasped softly.

“Just like that,” Markus told him.

“Have you—?” Simon started.

“No,” said Markus. “You’re the first.”

Taking his hand and kissing his fingertips, Simon nodded.

Markus let his eyes slip closed as Simon started to move, tentative.

“I...I want you to come one more time,” Simon said.

Markus opened his eyes and nodded. His cock began to swell again.

Simon took the opportunity to slip a second finger in alongside the first.

Instead of adjusting at once, he could feel Markus letting it stretch him, coaxing a different type of pleasure from the artificial nerves embedded along the passage. He drew in a sharp breath as Simon pushed in deep, knuckles to skin, his cock twitching against his belly.

Watching it gave Simon more courage; he leaned forward a little and urged Markus to raise his hips so he could watch his fingers sliding into him.  

Markus reached down between his own legs to stroke Simon’s wrist. “It’s all right,” he said. “I’m ready.”

Simon could have continued as he was for hours, just watching Markus’s face—his lids fluttering over those strange eyes, the way his tongue just touched his bottom lip now and again and made it shine with wetness. It was safe, it was gentle. But he relented and drew his fingers out, smoothing the slickness that remained over his cock.

Lithe, strong arms hooked around his neck and drew him down as he settled his hips between Markus’s thighs. Simon kissed his parted lips, then began to push in slowly, watching his face and the pleasure that overtook it in a thousand different variations. He had to stop when he was fully inside, only for a moment or two, balancing the intense sensations that were both physical and far beyond that.

Markus hugged Simon close, and Simon whimpered and rocked forward slightly, pushing into the embrace and into the slippery heat surrounding his cock. But he found himself gripped with a sudden fear,  even though Markus raised his hips to draw him deeper and whispered half-coherent reassurances in his ear.

This was _Markus_ , after all. The savior of Jericho: uncompromising and forceful and sometimes unapproachable, shouldering this great task for all of them. Could Simon be expected to think that this was the same man now: warm and alive and naked—not only laid entirely bare but filled with Simon’s cock and urging him to move?

“Simon,” Markus said, his voice tight with anticipation.

Simon looked away.

“Hey.” Markus touched Simon’s chin, forcing him to look back and meet his eyes again. “It’s all right. You know me. You always have. Not like this, not yet. But I want you to.”

Slowly, Simon braced himself and tried a shallow thrust, watching with keen eyes for signs of reluctance. He found none. He drew his hips back and then pushed in again. Encouraged by Markus’s soft sigh, he set up a hesitant rhythm. The pressure built too quickly inside him.

He desperately wanted to get Markus off again before he toppled over the edge. But when Markus pulled him close and whispered, “You feel so good,” Simon was overwhelmed. He clenched his fists, struggling to fight it off, ashamed to lose control again, when it mattered most. Despair washed over him, almost stemming the oncoming pleasure, but he was too caught up. Simon came, biting his lip hard to muffle his cry, terrified to look down at Markus. There were hands on his face even as he rode out the last of the orgasm, and a hushing sound that eventually resolved into his name.

“Simon,” Markus was saying. “Simon. Come back.”

Simon’s eyes stung. “I’m sorry.”

“Love, you did everything I asked.” Markus peppered his face with kisses: the corner of his mouth, his cheeks, the bridge of his nose.

Even so, it was hard not to be dragged back to those wretched moments on the floor, punished by Markus’s hand and by his disapproval.

“Look at me, Simon. You were so very good for me.”

At long last, he braved a glance.

“This is new,” Markus told him. “To me, and I assume to you.”

Simon nodded, still mute.

“Nothing has to be perfect. In fact, I don’t think it _can_ be. I wouldn’t take anything back.” A smile, genuine and unguarded. “Would you like me to show you how you made me feel?”

“Yes,” Simon rasped, feeling wrung out but unwilling to break the bubble they’d created around them, to start time flowing again towards some uncertain end. He slipped free, wincing, then straddled Markus’s thighs, remembering at the last moment to activate the mechanism that allowed him to self-lubricate.

Markus steadied his cock and Simon sank down on it, forcing himself to endure some discomfort—a reminder. But when skin at last touched skin, pleasure welled up in him and ricocheted through his body, making him writhe and contract around the cock inside him.

Markus gripped his thighs and thrust up, making Simon cry out.

_This_ felt right—less like the ground was shifting underneath him—with Markus inside him, filling him nearly to the point of pain: coveting and instructing and laying claim.

Markus seemed to know what he needed, pulling Simon down against him.

Wide, strong hands traveled from Simon’s hips to his belly and chest. Fingertips found his nipples and pinched them hard until he whined.

“Shh. I understand,” Markus told him. Using Simon’s body as leverage, he sat up, then guided Simon backward onto the hard mattress.

Simon waited there, open, ready, but Markus patted his hip and said, “Turn over.”

He did, and the same restraining hand settled on his back, only this time it was arousing and charged the air with expectation.

With little forewarning, Markus entered him again—not cruel but deliberate and quick. He settled his chest onto Simon’s back, playing his fingertips briefly through the short hair at Simon’s nape. “Ask me,” he said.

“Please, Markus,” Simon said at once.

“Not like that.”

Simon was embarrassed by his own blatant desperation. He pushed his face into the mattress.

Markus was close, kissing his cheek and the shell of his ear, whispering. “You know what I want to hear.”

Simon whispered the words against the fabric, half-wishing he could wriggle away and escape, but Markus had him pinned.

“Again, love,” Markus said. “Just ask me. I know you can.”

Clinging to the strength of Markus’s reassurance, Simon grabbed handfuls of the sheet. Louder, he said, “ _Fuck me_.”

Markus hummed his approval. “Very good. You’re doing so well.”

Using some unseen leverage, Markus pushed in deep, forcing Simon’s thighs apart and sliding against still-tender skin with enough friction to light Simon up and make him gasp. He thrust a few times like this, curling his hands under Simon’s shoulders and hauling himself in until he was sunk to the hilt.

Simon felt ready to break into pieces, to crumble under the closeness and warmth.

Then, Markus sat back on his heels and drew Simon up with him.

The hand smoothed along Simon’s spine was stabilizing, keeping him grounded as Markus drew back and then slammed home, the sharp sound ringing in his small quarters. He moved fast and hard: echoing the rhythm of his hand cracking hard against Simon’s skin, only now he subdued him with pleasure instead of pain.

Just as before, Simon gave over and let Markus take him, place his mark on him—the one that would be given to no one else. Simon held onto it like he would his own life. And when Markus shouted and came and filled him up again, Simon drew his arms around him and they lay on the bed for a long time, one still inside the other.

But the countdown had begun again, twice as urgent for having been interrupted. Soon, they would dress again and walk to the mess hall to plan and to wait—either for freedom or nothingness.

**Author's Note:**

> Come yell at me on [tumblr](http://nookienostradamus.tumblr.com/). Whatever you want to yap about, I probably ship it anyway.


End file.
